


The Path of the Guardian

by MissmionePotter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, F/F, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-16 09:12:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18688498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissmionePotter/pseuds/MissmionePotter
Summary: I must remember, I must remember them, and the war, and why we fought it. Just a year ago I made peace with what I thought would be my end. But Fleur, I’m alive, and so many are not.Her path was written in the starts. Post war fic. EWE.





	1. Chapter 1

Twenty-one years ago she woke up to the salty ocean breeze of Shell Cottage, completely unaware that come that evening the fate of the Wizarding world would be decided. 

Twenty-one years ago they lost Fred, Remus, Tonks, and so many countless others. 

Twenty-one years ago Harry died. 

Twenty-one years ago the call went out all of the wizarding world, adults and children fought together against the forces of true evil. 

Hermione went to for herself, for her future, for the future of all witches and wizards, she fought because it was the right thing to do. But most of all she fought for Harry. Every spell that left her wand was in remembrance of his lost childhood, for every lie he had ever been told, every person that had left him prematurely. The curses and hexes that broke her shields were nothing more than mere anoyances. Even Her own torture under Bellatrix, was more than a fair price to pay for the peace that followed their triumph.

It was difficult to return to life after the war. The world was at peace and her incredible intellect was rendered useless. She was useless.

But she was also restless, living like a shadow of her former self. It was twenty one years ago that she began her journey. Every year that followed their victory she took on a more personal journey. 

When she started on this quest she was utterly alone, but now, twenty-one years later, she had the a comforting hand to hold. She wasn’t a lonely guardian, she had a companion, a lovely human that had walked faithfully alongside her.

It all began at Shell Cottage. The first May 2nd she apparated there, poor Fleur almost cursed her. But the blonde veela let the curse die on lips, instead, watched in horror as Hermione Granger collapsed on the beach, just outside the wards.

The young Gryffindor was inconsolable in her grief. Sobs bubbled out, tripping over each other and almost stealing her ability to breathe. Submerged in the past, reliving the war and the years that lead to it.  She never noticed the soft arms that gathered around her or the whispered words begging her to come back to the present.

It took a long time for the tears to stop, but when they did brown eyes met the blue ones belonging to Fleur.

“Are you hurt?” asked the French woman.

“Yes,” replied Hermione.

Although her wounds had long since healed and scarred, her heart throbbed painfully with every beat. The hurt she had was of her very soul. Every nerve ending alive, shooting pain through her tired body. 

It wasn’t until after Voldemort had been burnt to ash and their allies mourned that the true cost of the war became clear. The few unlucky ones that had faced torture suffered the most.

War time bred ingenuity, and advancements with magic itself. Both sides trying to outdo each other, modifying spells, creating new ones, all to harm, maim and kill. The Cruciatus had been one of those modified spells, unbeknownst to the Light, the curse had been altered to be as immortal as the devil that had bettered it. Flaring back to life long after the caster had joined the ranks of death.

It now worked much like a dementor, feeding on fear and sadness. The curse lived dormant in the unfortunate bodies of the afflicted only to come alive at the smallest of triggers, recasting itself for a moment, as if to assert its authority.

Fleur had recognized the signs of an impending flare, she held on to Hermione as she relieved her torture. “Let us go inside,” she whispered. “You must rest.”

Hermione pulled away from the other witch. “I can’t, I have to see it all again.”

Her legs shook as she stood on the unsteady sand. Fleur also stood. “Why must you? It will only bring you sorrow.”

Hermione didn’t immediately reply, she turned torwards the sea, allowing the soft breeze to sooth her.

“I must remember, I must remember them, and the war, and why we fought it. Just a year ago I made peace with what I thought would be my end. But fleur, I’m alive, and so many are not. Many will forget, and they’ll become content with their lives, complacent perhaps. They will forget what it was to live in hell. They will think back on the war and deem it unpleasant to remember. But I won’t, because I do not wish to live it again. I will remember even when everyone else does not. For as long as I draw breath, I won’t let history repeat once more.”

Fleur took a step closer to the shorter witch, a single tear staining her otherwise perfect face, she nodded. “I will help you then, hmm? Perhaps I will remember with you,” she said softly.

Hermione gently rested her hand on Fleurs cheek, using her thumb to wipe the tears. They didn’t speak again for a long while. The blonde girl coaxed the other back into the cottage, a bewildered Bill watched as his wife drapped a cloak over Hermione before donning her own. 

Together they walked back out to the beach and away from the wards. Fleur grasped the brunette’s hand an instant before they disapparated.

They reappeared on another beach that gave way into a forest. This time Hermione didn’t weep, she led Fleur a ways into the forest.

“This is where we came after we broke into Grigrotts, we jumped off the dragon into that lake. I thought we’d have a bit more time after that. But Harry’s connection with Voldemort… well, He knew what we were after, it forced into battle,” said Hermione. 

“This is that last time I had a moment to think before all the madness began.”

A reply from her companion was not necessary, instead the veela stepped closer and wrapped an arm around the shorter girl. Hermione allowed her weigh to rest against Fleur, relishing in silent companionship she was offered. Without another word she apparated them again.

This time they landed in Hogsmade.   
Hermione’s knees buckled and she only maintained her balance due to the arm holding her upright. The grief she had felt at Shell Cottage assaulted her once more. 

In her mind she didn’t see the quaint little village as it was now, whole and untouched. Instead she remembered the village after the battle; building in flames, bodies littering the well-walked paths, the smell of blood, the sense of anguish and the stain of darkness violating all around.

Her heart constricted again, but she stubbornly held back her tears. Fleur was speaking to her, but Hermione couldn’t focus, all she saw was the path towards Hogwarts. 

People openly stared at them, Hermione in particular. She was, after all, one of the war heros. There hadn’t been a person present that hadn’t know her name. Many had fought alongside her, other had witnessed her power and might during the battle. Unaware of the whispers that followed them, they continued on. 

Hermione took them through the middle of the village, willing herself to stay in the present. But a noise drew her attention to the edge of the forest. What she saw forced a gasp out of her lungs. Therestrals.

“I can see them too,” said the blonde witch, following her gaze. “I’m sure many people can as well.”

“I wish they couldn’t.”

Together they walked towards the school. Each step become increasingly more difficult, yet the cool summer breeze encouraged them to go on. This was the first time either of them had stepped foot here since the days following the battle. Hermione’s plans to come back and finish her 7th year dissolved quickly when the first thought of them filled her with an all-consuming panic.

A lone figure stood guard by the gate, the pointy hat and familiar tartan gave her identity away. It appeared as if the Headmistress had tasked herself with guarding the gates of the fortress for the day. Much like Hermione, to remember and honor the spilled blood that beheld these grounds the prior year.

The stern woman did not seem surprised to see her favorite pupil standing before her, but did raise a brow at her companion. No words were exchanged, they weren’t needed. She simply granted them passage into the school.

The Great Hall was filled with children, laughing, shouting, all filled with cheer and most importantly all alive. Hermione didn’t see this; her mind showed her the Great Hall when it served as a war infirmary. The dead and wounded lining the space The house tables usually occupied. She vividly remembered the how young Remus had looked, how tenderly his hand held on to Tonks, she remembered the smile across Fred’s pale face.

But the dead were dead, what plagued her nightmares were the memories of those that remained. She recalled having to snatch a blue-haired baby out of the arms of his grandmother as she screamed in grief over her daughter. She remembered George’s refusal to leave his brother’s body for the four days it stayed in the Great Hall; how Molly wailed, held up by her sons as she said good bye to her Freddie. She remember the lonely Severus Snape with no one but Harry and her to watch over him.

It seemed that in death, all the hardships of life are stripped away, showing the person at their purest form. Her classmates, the same ones that had fought fiercely next to her, now laid broken and lifeless, looking exactly as the children they were. Even their enemies took on human form again, she could see in them a brother, a father, a sister. Death truly was the great equalizer.

The sudden silence jolted her back to the present. Looking back her were hundreds of young faces, some she knew personally, Neville, Luna, Ginny; others she had never seen before. They all regarded her with the outmost respect and reverence.

“I wish they wouldn’t do that,” she said quietly and only for Fleur.

She fought in the war because it was the right thing to do, because she pledged her loyalty to Harry and promised to walk besides him until the bitter end. The war should have never happened, and the older generations had failed them all. Leaving children to take the post of soldiers. There was no glamour, no glory, just the stench of death and grief. She vowed right then not to fail, like others had. She would do everything in her power to preserve the innocence and safeguard the future of the children looking back at her. 

As if sensing her train of thought, Fleur took her hand and held it tightly, the veela’s own silent promise.

“Shall we continue my friend?” asked Fleur.

Hermione nodded and continued deeper into Hogwarts. Both witches could feel the castle’s, magic buzzing around them. Like a worried mother, fussing over her child in search of hurts. Seemingly satisfied, the magic settled, content to join them in their journey.

They stopped many times, in odd passageways, stair cases, classrooms, all seemingly mundane areas. To Fleur, these places didn’t hold any significance, that is until they came to stand in front of a wall. The same wall that had collapsed on Fred, the same wall she had lifted off her brother-in-law, as frantically as the other Weasleys. She understood then, each pause had been a place where a witch or wizard had fallen. She sunk to the floor in front of the blasted wall and wept, finally relizing the tremendous weight of this daunting task. She felt Hermione kneel in front of her, pulling her closer.

“You have done enough,” said the brunette. “I can do this on my own.”

“How do you expect me leave you to this? No one could do this alone.”

Hermione nodded, resting her cheek against Fleur’s head. “I’m choosing to do this Fleur. It is my decision, and I will do it until my body fails me. But you don’t have to.”

“Then it is my choice to join you, I didn’t understand. You were so broken when I found you at the beach, I just wanted to help. But now I understand, I know that I have to do this as well. You don’t have to be a lonely guardian.”

Hermione didn’t say anything, she help the blonde to her feet and took her hand. Silently accepting Fleur’s companionship, for however long she would join her, she was welcomed.

When their journey took them deep into the Forbiden Forest, Hermione started to lose her composure. She collapsed in the middle of a little clearing.

“This is where Harry died.” She whispered horrified.

Having said it released a fresh wave of grief, her cries echoing through the ancient trees. The dormant cruciatus coming back to life. Her sobs colliding with her screams, managing to silence the entire forest. No creature wanting to intrude in the witch’s pain. They stayed there for a long time. Fleur desperately trying hold Hermione as she came apart in her arms.

“Humans,” a voice behind them interrupted.

Hermione ignored it but Fleur startled, grasping at her wand.

“We have seen you in the stars Hermione Granger,” it was a Centaurus. “The journey you choose is long. But necessary.”

“Many years from now magic will call on you,” he said walking closer to the pair. “Answer the call, fulfil your vow.” 

Extending a cupped hand towards the two witches, he revealed a small wooden carving of a playful otter.

“My grandfather saw your stars before you were born. He made it. It is now yours.” Hermione took the little figurine.

“I wished I had died with them,” said the brunette.

Fleur gasped. “And you will wish that many times, but the stars wish you alive,” he replied.

“Veela, we have foreseen your future as well,” he said making eye contact with the blonde. 

“You are to walk beside her, when she despairs, you are to bring hope. When she becomes lost, guide her back, like the stars have guided your people.”

“Good bye Hermione Granger,” he said bringing his fist to his chest, thumping it over his heart. He took off back into the forest and quickly disappeared into the darkness.

“We’re done here,” said Hermione, apparating them away.

For the second time that day she landed on the beach at Shell Cottage. 

“Go home Fleur, go be with Bill.” She encouraged.

But the blonde did not release the witch. She did not want to go home or return to her post-war bliss. She couldn’t, not after today.

“What will you do?” She asked Hermione.

“I don’t know,” she answer honestly. “But I seem to fancy a stiff drink and perhaps a long sleep.”

Fleur agreed. “Perhaps you could stay here tonight, hmm? I do have firewhiskey and a warm bed.”

Hermione didn’t want to stay. She didn’t want to relieve her time after Malfoy Manor, and Shell Cottage was filled with memories of those times. She didn’t want Bill to see her break again. It was hard enough with Fleur. 

“I can’t.” She said simply. 

Fleur seem to want to object, but no words escaped her mouth. The younger witch pulled away from the warm embrace, intent on disapparating quickly.

“You will not do this alone Hermione.” Said Fleur.

She nodded in response, resigning herself to her companion. 

Leaning closer to Fleur, she let her lips ghost over the other woman’s cheek. “Thank you.”

With almost a silent pop she left.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was simple to forget those early days, how this task had seemed so very great and daunting. But it was much like looking back through a foggy bit of glass, the details were distorted while the general image remained. How alone had she felt. Only very recently, over two decades later, was she finally able to feel at peace with the war, with her role, with the deaths.  
It was the quiet days, like this one, that took her back to those dark times. She’d sit by the window watching as the day went by while she lost herself in the past. This particular afternoon, she thought back on one of her first spontaneous moments. The day she bought her beloved cottage. 

A mug of hot tea popped in front of her, pulling her attention away from the memories. She knew that mug and what its appearance implied. And she smiled, indulgently, as if the mug were the actual person who sent it. The tea would be too sweet for her taste, because even after twenty years and her beloved couldn’t get her tea just right, but she’d drink it anyway. The meaning was clear, she had neglected her partner for too long, and now that wonderful person was requesting her company.  
Grimacing, she heaved herself from her post by the window. Most of her weight resting on a tightly held walking stick. Sparing it a glance, she lovingly traced the intricate flower carvings with her thumb. The circumstances that forced to require such stick were unfortunate, but those would be no more, she made sure no other would befall her same fate.

“You called?” she said in the general direction of her kitchen.  
The only reply she received was in the way of a humming voice, a soft happy tune luring her closer.

“Darling?” she called again.

This time she was rewarded with soft smile, “you spend too much time in that room. Won’t you come join me?”

“I was just thinking,” she excused.

“Hmm? Come, sit, tell me what you were thinking about,” replied the other person walking closer. Hermione felt a warm hand grasp her arm, allowing her to walk a bit more freely. And with a grace she no longer possessed she was eased onto a chair, her companion taking a seat across from her. The warm hand sliding down her arm seamlessly into her own hand. 

“I was thinking about the day I bought this cottage,” she said, her eyes a perfect mixture of sorrow and joy.

Both stayed quiet, Hermione retreating into her memories while her companion held on to her, like a tether.

-o-

For the first three months after the war, Hermione had lived at Grimmauld Place with both of her boys. All three of them spent that time grieving and adjusting to life in a free world. She watched both Harry and Ron slowly put themselves back together, while she kept on falling apart. She watched Ron thrive with the attention he received as war hero. And Harry, while uncomfortable with being made a spectacle, humbly accepted all praise. Hermione hid, because she could not fathom being praised with a victory that cost them so dearly. 

She couldn’t understand how quickly the wizarding world had forgotten the human cost. Of course, their victory had been wonderful, but they paid for it in blood. The cost was too great to be happy about it just yet. She couldn’t start to rebuild, it was too soon, and her wounds were still raw.

All three of them had made plans come Sept 1st, the boys were joining the aurors and she was going back to finish her 7th year. But as June turned to July and then into August, her resolve to continue her schooling waned.  
Ron expected her to snap out of any day. “One morning you’ll wake up and you’ll feel just like before,” he’d tell her. But she didn’t know if she’d ever feel like before. He never noticed her slipping away. He was so busy with himself and his fame that there came a day when he went to look for her at his side and finally noticed that she wasn’t there. He looked down at his hand, the one she had held since they were eleven years-old, and saw it was empty. He had left her behind, creating a rift between them, a crippling emotional distance.

On the morning of September 1st, she left the dreary old house with every intention of going back to Hogwarts, but alas, she never made it to the station. 

The first wave of panic crushed her as she started to pack her trunk. Her hands shook, and she couldn’t catch a breath. The second time happened as she whispered goodbye to Harry. She felt safe in his arms. They had not been apart a single night for over a year; and here she was, about to leave the comfort and safety of his presence.

The third and final wave came as she stepped out of Grimmauld place. This time the fear was paralyzing, it brought her to her knees. Her entire body felt hot and shook with pain, reminiscent of her torture. It lasted less than a minute, but it shot her straight back to the war. Her mind tried to recall a cheerful memory, she needed to come back to herself. Cotswold, she remembered the little town she had visited as a child. Magic took over, causing her to apparate on the spot.

No sooner her feet landed, that she felt the pressure around her chest ease. The little village had not changed, it was comforting to see a place that had not been touched by the war. Its inhabitants, completely oblivious to her identity, continued with their business, not sparing her a second glance. With her new-found anonymity she wandered through the old cobblestone streets and little stone bridges. It was only as the sun started its descent that her stomach protested at its neglect, forcing her to nip into a quiet Inn.

The place was empty, apart from herself and the owner, Cait. The woman was lovely, with a round face and rosy cheeks. Her dark blonde hair plaited down her back, and a stained apron secured around her waist.

It was over a plate of kidney pie, that Hermione found herself sharing a bit more than she normally would. Perhaps it was because Cait reminded her of her own Gran, or maybe because this lovely woman had magic of her own and had dosed her drink with veritaserum. Either the young Gryffindor found liberating to share her burdens. A much more sanitized version, always mindful of the Statute of Secrecy.

“I don’t know if I can go back and face them,” Hermione confided.

The woman tutted. “Then stay,” she said simply. “I have a cottage, it’s a way over but I’ve been wanting to rent. You can have it.”

Hermione would later wonder why, but she accepted the offer; and after purchasing enough food to last a week the two made their way to the cottage.

“We call it the Witch’s Cottage,” said Cait when they arrived. “Is been in my family for generations, granny used to tell us that a real witch lived there.” They shared a laugh, each finding their own amusement in the name.

“It’s lovely,” said Hermione with a smile.

It was anything but. The masonry was in a poor state and the gate hung at an odd angle. But Hermione was certain that beneath the jungle that cover the lawn, laid a gem of a garden. “I know it needs a bit of love, but it’s safe and warm and rent will be cheap,” said Cait eyeing a cracked window pane.

“Can I buy it?” Hermione blurted.

“What?” she squawked, giving the younger woman an odd look. “But you haven’t even seen the inside?”

 

“It’s perfect.” Hermione felt a smile tug at her lips, a true smile, the kind that she hadn’t felt in years. This little cottage was in utter need of repair, but then, so was she. Perhaps if she could fix this house, she could, in time fix herself.

“Alright,” said Cait still puzzled. “It’s yours.”

They made arrangement to meet in the morning and handle the dull details of purchasing a home. That very evening Hermione should’ve been at Hogwarts, instead she was in a little secluded piece of land waving her wand frantically, turning an abandoned cottage into a home. She should have been sitting enjoying a feast with her classmates, but instead she danced with her magic, feeling truly alive and free for the first time in such a very long time.

It became her haven, the one place where she could breathe and hide away. Not a single soul knew where she was. Well, except for the long-haired gray cat that apparently came with the house. She named him Angus, and he give the impression to be in the same state of disrepair as the cottage. He was a proud tomcat, a bit of his ear missing, his fur matted and a long scar going over his eyelid. Angus had glared at her for the first five days of her stay. But on the sixth day he dropped a dead mouse at her feet, and although appalling, the witch knew that the poor mouse had been offered as an olive branch. 

Angus was a warrior, scarred and battle worn, and absolutely perfect for her.

Of course, she knew that her friends were probably concerned about her, but she couldn’t help but relish in this little bit of spontaneity. It was only after ten days of seclusion that she sent her newly acquired owl with word of her location. The great horned owl carried a single piece of parchment spelled for Harry and only Harry to see. 

Hermione Granger lives at The Thicket

She was certain that as soon as he received the message he would come straight to her. And exactly within two hours her best friend stepped through her floo. He looked anxious, but her worries were quickly halted as he encased her in his arms. His noses buried in her hair and his tears wetting her neck.

“You’re ok,” he said hoarsely.

Guilt was a new emotion for her. It stung almost as much as grief, but not quite as sharply.

“I’m sorry... I couldn’t... I couldn’t go back,” she said tears filling her eyes.

“I know, I understand,” he repeated over and over again, not once releasing her from his embrace. 

Relief was also a new emotion. Unlike guilt and grief, it didn’t hurt. She was grateful for Harry, for his love and his constant comforting presence in her life. She loved him, probably more than anyone else in her life, a familial sort of love. He was her brother in everything, but blood and she knew that he loved her just as much.

He stayed over that night; unwilling to part from her too soon. They spent the evening laughing and crying and reminiscing like they had in that blasted tent. Except this time, they had no Voldemort chasing them, no hunger pains, and the weight of the future didn’t rest on them. 

The next morning she recast the Fidelius making Harry her secret keeper. He didn’t question her need for the charm, he just smiled, his silly crooked smiled and stood by watching in awe as Hermione coaxed her magic to her will. 

“I’ll be back in a few days, with your orange monster,” he said hugging her once more.

“I will be here,” she promised softly. “Thank you, Harry.”

Taking a step back he dropped a kiss on her forehead, “I love you Mione.”

“I love you too,” she said moments before he apparated away.

She was still staring at the place where Harry had been when a sharp knock at her door startled her. Fear spread through her body. No one but Harry should be able to see her front door, much less be able to knock. He had not been long enough to tell anyone. 

Brandishing her wand she threw her door open. Her stunner bouncing harmlessly off a shield. 

“Miss Granger, I assure you that I mean you no harm,” said the stout little wizard before her.

“My name is Saul Croaker, I’m with the Department of Mysteries,” he continued, dropping his shield and shuffling closer.

“Prove it,” said Hermione aiming her wand once more.

“I believe,” he started, reaching into his pocked to procure a very familiar object. “That you used this little gem back in your third year?”

It was the time turner, the one she had regretted handing over for the entire time they had been on the run. “What do want?”

“We’ve been watching you Miss Granger, and I never believed you were returning to Hogwarts this year,” he continued. “I’m here to offer you a job.”

Her eyes widened at his proposition, “what?”

“I have certain knowledge, in the future you will be embarking on a monumental journey. All I ask, my dear, is that you take notes and record what you do,” he asked fiddling with the buttons of his waistcoat.

“What journey? I’m not planning anything now or in the future?”

“But you will,” he replied with a small grin.

She finally lowered her wand. “What could you possibly want with my notes?”

“To understand magic, and to heal the wound that Voldemort has left on our world,” he said, finally taking a step into the cottage.

“Why should I trust you?” She asked unsure.

 

“I swear on my magic the I have no ill will towards you nor intentions to harm you or yours, and that any information you gather will be solely for the good of the Wizarding world,” a bright rope of white light shot from his wand encasing his entire body. “A wizard’s oath, is that enough for you Miss Granger?”

She nodded, unable to comprehend how this little wizard had made such an oath without even blinking.

“Wonderful, you will be compensated monthly, directly into your vault starting today. You do not have to be present at the ministry but know that you have the support of my entire department, should the need arise. And most importantly you cannot tell anyone the nature of our arrangement, for you are, in essence, an unspeakable,” he said happily. “Do you agree?”

“Okay,” she said softly. “Why am I receiving compensation now? I haven’t done anything.”

“Your work is invaluable, or will be,” he said with a wink.

“Oh, Miss Granger, just because you can’t disclose the nature of our collaboration does not mean you can’t speak of your actual work with others,” he said before apparating away. 

She was baffled, the onetime her never ending questions should’ve been asked, she was rendered inarticulate and speechless. Closing the door, she walked to her small kitchen table, dropping down on a chair.

In the course of the last ten days she had left Hogwarts, bought a cottage and become an unspeakable. Her mind was blank, possibly in shock, but completely unable to string together even the simplest of thoughts. 

Perhaps tomorrow she’d be able to feel something about her predicament. Even though it was very early in the afternoon she went to room and crawled in bed. Hoping that this shock will keep her nightmares a bay.

Tomorrow, tomorrow she would handle life, today was she would sleep and allow her tired brain to rest.

Tomorrow she would work she would handle life and start work in the garden. She fell asleep thinking of sunflowers and unspeakables.


End file.
